


o father, adoro te devote

by silversonata



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Demons, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversonata/pseuds/silversonata
Summary: "Ours. For always."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> purely self-indulgent. i can't escape this cliché no matter what fandom i'm in. 
> 
> i change my mind tony is in his thirties + tony isn't consenting towards this treatment, hence the noncon tag  
> apologies for any/every mistake, error + badly written snippets of s m u t + convoluted/confusing writing ;u;

Stained in the glossy blues, and reds, of mosaic glass, and framed in the portraits of Catholic Saints, the rose window rattles, _fractures_ , loud, and sharp, in a sprawl of veins, and completely shatters, bursts forth in a stream of shards from the cathedral dome's interior.

Startled, Tony springs from the sturdy oak of his pew, drops the rosary of amethyst, and jade, from his hands, and looks to the central aisle, a hollow disbelief in the spark, and etch, of his eyes.

Marred, and mottled, in vicious welts, scrapes, and gashes, Ty's head, cold, listless, and severed, decorates the high altar, and desecrates the divine structure, the _Holy Table_ , and bleeds, profuse, dewy, and fresh, into the white cloth.

Ty.

_Ty._

(Smarmy, lanky, and worldly, Ty stormed into his life, grafted his fiery ambitions, fruitless dreams, and frantic, feverish passions into the somber reels of his existence. _Ty_ , an associate of California's crime syndicate, dared to chase, and charm him, dared to love the frayed edges, and tattered remnants, of his heart, and dared to kiss him, earnest, and free, with the bitter tang of tacky, Cuban cigars. Fickle, faithless Ty, who had lied, lured him in with false assurances, and dishonest devotion, and used him to pay his debts --)

Abrupt, and unbidden, a hazy, shadowy mass falls from the dome, and lands in a graceful flourish of muscles, and limbs, steadies, and perches, on the sullied altar. The blunt, brute force topples Ty's misshapen head, and it tumbles, streaks the stone floors in blood.

Tony swallows his tongue.

Unhurried, undeterred, _it_ unfolds, shifts, and stands, spreads its arms wide, lofty, lordly, a farce of humanity, and bares itself to the entirety of the cathedral. Gold, dusky fur lines its flesh, full, sable horns sprout from its head, and a long, thick cock dangles between its legs --

_Demon._

"Oh, Father," Sinewy, and bulky, the demon unfurls, thin, spindly claws in Tony's direction, and teases, light, silvery, a hint of promise on its traitorous tongue, "Won't your hear my confession?"

Blood drips from the tips of its lethal nails in generous, inky blots.

Distraught, a rush of unease, and fear, in the discordant thrum of his heart, Tony bolts from the row of his pew, wobbles, and stumbles, into the aisle. He hastens to the cathedral's main entrance, scrambles, wildly, hopelessly, for the crucifix beneath his clerical collar.

And the demon laughs, a rich, and hearty, lilt of delight.

"Shit, shit, _shit_ ," Tony swears, a litany of prayers in the tangle of his hysteria, and delirium, and swivels, brandishes the meager piece of a cross he has to offer, and mumbles, "You're not -- this isn't real, this isn't."

Warm, dulcet tones seep into his thoughts, pervade his consciousness, lull him into a sense of security. "You're pathetically naive, Father." Brusque, the demon leaps from the altar, glides, and steps, onto the nave's marble surface, several feet from Tony's stance, and slants beady baby-blues onto the flimsy, crude shape of the Latin Cross. "Blind, and foolish, like the rest of your ilk, if you think your man-made trinkets can affect us."

For a tentative second, the demon forsakes pursuit, lingers, and Tony inches, gradual, and languid, towards the cathedral's doors, the crucifix firm in his grasp. "If -- if _you're_ real," Briefly, he considers the layout of the church, the structure, and integrity, of the walls, and pillars, the hidden compartments, chambers, and stealthy detours of the parish grounds. "Then, so is the Lord." Holy Water brims to the forefront of his solutions. Silver. "So, are the weaknesses He gave you."

(His chances are relatively slim—he _knows_ , feels it in the marrow of his bones, that he won't outwit this spawn of Hell, or survive this game of cat, and mouse, but he believes. He has to, his beliefs are all he has left in this world --)

Solid, mahogany doors splint, and crack, and _pop_ , and the sound echoes, ricochets, shrill, and unpleasant, in the dimly lit cathedral, and it lances through the muddle of Tony's worries, and nerves, floods him with dread.

(He can't muster the effort to turn around.)

Faintly, fleetingly, the ornate, double-set doors shudder, and heave, in resistance, and quickly give way to barbaric strength, wrench clean from pivot hinges, and scatter dark bronze spindles across the floor.

Tony manages a glimpse of icy blues, ashy fur, and a single, gnarled horn—a sight beastly, grisly, very much like the first—before it latches onto him, restrains, and secures, him in an ill embrace.

Senseless, the fester, and bloom, of chills in his belly, Tony thrashes, flails, and whips around, seeks leverage, _any tiny bit of leverage_ , that will grant him mercy, spare him from this fate, but the demon flexes the span of its claws, punctures the grooves, and gaps, of his rib-cage, and steals the air from his lungs.

Tony folds, coughs, and gasps, desperate for reprieve.

"Ain't you a cute one, Father." Rough, rife with disuse, and grit, the demon slurs into the shell of his ear, lazily licks the strip of his jaw, and the side of his face. "Ya gonna absolve us of our sins, too?"

Diligent, it rakes fine nails into his cassock, shreds the black fabric, tears apart the seams, and stitches, and cuts a slit into his inner thigh, prods into the band of his underwear --

Tony jolts, regains his voice, "Don't—oh my god, don't --"

And the first demon, of gold furs, sable horns, and honey whispers, apparates, snatches the crucifix from the painful clench of Tony's hand, and snaps it clean in half. "You won't need that anymore."

Gingerly, sickly, and kindly, the golden demon cups him by the chin, drags the pinpricks of its nails along his cheek, and the ashen demon slithers an arm to the rise of his chest, splays fingers over his erratic heart.

They ask, simultaneously, "Will you stay with us?"

(He doesn't even have to think.)

Tony spits, " _You can fuck the Devil_."  
  
*  
  
Again, in perfect unison, they smile.

* * *

(Steve, Bucky, it's what they call each other these days, and it's all Tony remembers.)

They sink their teeth into his mouth, and throat, nip, and suck, the skin till its rosy, a mess of their bruises, and bites. They divest him of the last of his vestments, and dignity, bind his wrists, and Bucky kisses the ridges of his spine, squeezes, and kneads, the globes of his ass, ruts the hard length of his cock into the neat cleft, and Steve possesses his lips, tastes sweet, and smoky, the sharp bite of his nails trailing the sun-kissed skin of his neck, and scraping the pert rings of his nipples. Eager, Steve rubs the hot, heavy swell of his dick against his own.

(Tony readily moans, and sighs, beads of precome on his stomach.)

And they hoist him onto the altar, spread his thighs, and Bucky flicks, and caresses, his tongue from perineum to sac, and blows sporadically on the messy string of saliva. Entirely weak, and human, Tony mewls, and arches, grips Bucky by the horn, almost begs for more.

Steve retracts his claws, and slips slick fingers behind Tony's ruddy cock, and balls, presses into the tight heat of his hole, and stretches his walls, preps him for their girth. Fierce, and feral, Bucky nudges Steve for a kiss, pricks, and snags, his teeth in the folds of his lips, savors the droplets of blood.

(Flushed, tears in the corners of his eyes, Tony writhes on Steve's insistent fingers, loathes that he avoids his prostate, loathes that he yearns for release.)  
  
*  
  
Like clockwork, they take turns, debauch, and fuck, him against the altar, wall, and pew, underneath the dull eyes of Spirits, Saints, and His Lordship. It's always hard, and rough, never gentle, or slow, and they never leave him empty. Repeatedly, they spurt their seed into his ass, scoop, and seal it into his pink, sloppy hole, and drink when the fluids spill, overflow.

(They also coat him in their particular brand of semen—scent, and mark him, make him theirs).  
  
*  
  
Incoherent, hardly lucid, dribbles of saliva, and come, on his chin, Tony squirms, tries to adjust to cram of two cocks in his sore, sticky ass, and to the new flare of pressure against his oversensitive prostate.

Reverent, and tender, they mouth declarations into his skin, pace the roll of their hips, and rock into his ass with a slight squelch, and still, they stave off his orgasm.

Once more, they implore, "Will you stay with us?"

"Yes, yes, _God, yes_." Tony sobs.

* * *

Meticulous, they draw, and trace, indistinct patterns into his supple thighs from the mixture of their seed, intertwine, impress, and burn, their symbol into the smooth, wiry skin.

"Ours. For always."  
  
*  
  
Pliant, adrift in a daze, Tony molds to their touch, welcomes the imprint of Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> steve + bucky just kinda found themselves enthralled by lil priest tony, and decided they wanted him. ofc they aren't pleased with classic d-bag ty using and taking advantage of tony, and so they kill him, kinda use his head as an offering??  
> gotta court and woo him somehow, i guess. essentially, they drag him to hell (which will be addressed if i ever get around to the second part...) and the smut is kinda rushed through bc tony's not rly present for it, and he's disoriented, and bc i can't write it well enough, h a h. 
> 
> i think i'm gonna stick to fluffier pieces tho. like, i need my boys happy, loving, and consenting, lord.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wrap your legs around my religion, call me god, and take what i'm giving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tony's outfit @ the end](http://silversonata.tumblr.com/post/158095916981/reference-1-lotr-au-2-irontitanpet-tony-au-3) (nsfwish) + lil summary is a lyric i ripped off from zombie oil's crucifixation + tony references hail mary/psalm 51  
>  thank you so so much for the kudos, comments, and bookmarks! i'm so glad you guys have liked this. c: 
> 
> so, this was supposed to be tony being thrown into hell and featuring a moment of jealous bucky&steve but that fell through. i might use it for an additional snippet for the future in this series or another. anyways, here's part 2, badly written s m u t + wonky transitions aheaaad. apologies for any/every mistake, error, convoluted sentences, etc.

Carved, crafted, in old stone, embellished in blue silk, and adorned in a crown of twelve stars, Saint Mary—Lady of Grace, Mother of God, and Holiest of creatures—looks upon them, desolate, forlorn, from the chapel in the east wing.

(Her fair, pristine features crumple, weep, and mourn, for what was, what is, and what will be.)

Shame burns, festers, in his heart, entraps, and consumes, his spirituality in a fiery despair, and scorches, stains, his connection to the Holy Trinity, his link to God, in impurities.

(She knows.)

Desperate, devout, Tony beholds the Virginal Mother, bears witness to the divinity, and heavenly glory, of her statue, seeks her protection, her absolution, _her salvation_.

Unwitting, and unknowing, he tries to crawl to her, scrabbles, and scrapes, for purchase on the marble floor, his fingers weak, numb. He tries not to think of his body, raw, and tender, and full of sharp, sweet aches—every inch of him savored, defiled, not a shred of him left untouched.

He tries not to think of the painful, empty throb of his ass, the sore twinge of his jaw, or the sticky trails of white on his stomach. He tries not to think of how much he wants, of how much he craves, starves, and yearns, for them.

(Entangled, and entwined, in the feverish spell of delirium, he thinks, for the briefest of moments, he was born to have them both.)

Tony breaks.

 _Please forgive me, please forgive me, pleasepleaseplease_ —

(God is never merciful.)

Vicious, monstrous, from the very depths of fire, and brimstone, the ashy, burly demon descends on Tony, seizes him by the scruff of his neck, digs its thin claws in the welts, and impressions, in his skin, and strikes, smashes his head, carelessly, recklessly, into the ground.

Blood seeps into Tony's mouth, murky, tangy, and coppery.

Deliberate, purposeful, and powerful, in each measure, it kneels, cages him between its heavy, stocky legs, surrounds him in the waves of heat, and settles its long, stiff cock in the curve of his ass.

It outlines Tony's spine—perfect, and precise, an edge of unearthly, unnatural intensity in its touch—and it nicks, needles, the bony column, inscribes indistinct letters, _imprints_. Husky, gravelly, it asks, "Where're ya goin', angel?"

(Beast of Hell, and Fallen son of God, it calls itself _Bucky_.)

Primed, and attuned, to the demon's abhorrent whims, and fickle ministrations, Tony mewls, and melts, a prickle of tears in his bleary eyes, a sting of arousal in his flaccid dick. He wants, and wants, and _wants_.

The fearful, fretful flicker of his gaze finds the Virgin Mary, her elegant arms open, generous, and receptive—a sacred offer of solace, and hope. Tony seals his lips. _Mary_ , he concentrates, ruminates, and recounts the invocation he's known since birth, _Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women_ \--

"Baby, y'really think He's gonna save you?" Thoroughly amused, and delighted, it barks a laugh, crows, "He ain't give a shit about you, or your kind." It nudges the shell of his ear, coos, "Not like we do. Not like _I_ do."

 _Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners_.

Blatant, callous, a complete disregard for his comfort, the demon rearranges, and readjusts Tony, manipulates his figure, and limbs, strings him onto his elbows, and knees.

 _Now, and at the hour of our_ \--

And it slides its wiry hands to the round swell of Tony's ass, spreads his cheeks, and teases, drags its lengthy nail to his rim, and gives a light, cursory tug in the sloppy, swollen pucker, dips in the heady mixture of their seeds--

" _Oh_." Brittle, frail, and faint, Tony gasps, and buckles—barely manages to straighten himself—slumps, and dangles, hangs his head. Tremulous, unsteady on the strips of his forearms, he croaks, profuse, incessant, "Please, please, oh, God, please--" _Don't_.

Swift, relentless, it grips either side of Tony's waist, tears, unapologetic, and unrepentant, into the delicate flesh, snaps its hips, and buries its cock, full, and hard, and dark, inside of him.

(His hole, loose, wet, and warm, stretches wide, gapes, and easily parts for _Bucky's_ length, seamlessly accommodates its girth.)

Tony startles, chokes, and spits, feels his ass clench, and ripple, around the thick shaft.

"C'mon, Father, won't you sing for my cock?" Gruff, brusque, it twines spindly fingers in Tony's unruly, unkempt hair, and wrenches, assaults Tony's senses in frightful, unimaginable pain, and pleasure, and growls, "Beg for it like the slut y'are?"

Ferocious, voracious, completely insatiable, and inhuman, in appetite, it pulls out of Tony, keeps a steady grasp of his hair, and waist, and thrusts into him, rocks his body with brutal force.

And it fucks Tony, harsh, and furious, plunges deep, like it belongs, and wrecks his ass.

Mortified, flushed, Tony whimpers, writhes, and grinds, on its large, veiny cock.

(Wanton, eager, and vulgar. Obscene. _Dirty_.)

It presses, firm, insistent, on his prostate, and Tony reels, keens, and arches, surges in white-hot bliss--

(Let death have him.)

Silent, sensuous, a vision of baby-blues, sable horns, and gold furs, the second half of the Hell spawn appears, and crouches, pervades Tony's space. Blithe, breathy, the utmost sincerity on its ashen tongue, it whispers, beguiles, "You're so gorgeous, sweetheart." _Steve_.

Gingerly, carefully, it traces the dewy beads of sweat on his brow, follows the small tremors, and twitches, of his jaw, and trails the splotches of reds, blues, and purples, on his neck, and collarbone, and sweeps to his chest, lingers on his heart, a parody of a lover's fond caress--

"Have mercy on me, O God," Disjointed, and muddled, Tony rambles, recites, and invokes, "Blot out my transgressions. Wash away all my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin."

"Oh, Father," Bemused, slightly dismayed, Steve seizes, clinches his throat, curls, and wraps, along his trachea, and squeezes. "He's forsaken you."

(Gradually, evenly, Bucky slows, stills, refuses to dislodge from his ass.)

"D—do not, _do not_ cast me from your presence." Ruddy, teary, and angry, Tony clings to Steve's wrist, and hisses, "Or, take your Holy Spirit from me."

Unforgiving, unfeeling, Steve pierces his larynx, pricks, shallow, and superficial, in the cord.

Fear suffuses, permeates, his bones, but Tony persists, sputters, and rasps, "Re—restore to me...the joy of...of your salvation and--"

Steve crushes his throat, expels the air from his lungs, and Tony heaves, and coughs, struggles to breathe. Saccharine-sweet, Steve blinks, flutters deceptive baby-blues, and smiles, toothy, "What use would He have for such a depraved, cock-hungry whore in his Paradise?" Gently, softly, he kisses Tony, savors the slivers of distress. "You were made for _us_."  
  
*  
  
And they fuck Tony until he screams himself hoarse, until their names are the only words he knows, until he doesn't know where they begin, and where he ends.

* * *

Listless, lifeless, Tony sprawls in Steve's lap, crooks, and nods, his head into his abdomen, the muscles dense, solid.

(Their inky seed drips from his ass, trickles from his rosy, swollen hole, and leaks onto his legs.)

"You're filthy, sweetheart. Impure. Tainted, and damaged long before you knew us." Languid, and kind, Steve threads his fingers in Tony's clean, fluffy curls, and murmurs, "You weren't a servant of God, were you? His faith wasn't even yours to lose."

Bucky, almost loving, mouths the litter of bruises, and bites, on Tony's supple thighs, swirls his tongue across the marks of their possession.

  
*  
  
Tony aches, and cries, hitches a sob into his palms.

(No.)

* * *

They clean him, and dress him in gold pieces—clasp a string of gold to his neck, taper a chain of gold to his waist, and fasten trinkets, and bands, of gold to his arms—present him to the altar.

"We receive you, our bride, accept you as you are, take you as you are." Tony sinks onto Steve, hot, and slick, and tight, and swallows Bucky, sucks in as much as he can. "Bind our lives to you, bind your life to ours."

Dearly, deeply, Steve strokes the flare of his hips, the dimples of his back, and Bucky, mesmeric, reverent, brushes the wayward strands from his face, grazes his knuckles against his temple.

"We give ourselves to you. You'll give yourself to us."

Tony closes his eyes.

(In nómine Patris, et Fílii, et Spíritus Sancti. Amen.)  
  
*  
  
(And they take him to a barren wasteland of smoke, and ash, and flame, and it's home.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kinda noticed i didn't give much to bucky for the first chapter, but then he completely took over this one, lmao. i gotta balance 'em out better. i think him made a lil more mean?? than i intended, but, he's a demon sOO. also, tony refers to them as "it" bc he's trying to detach? dissociate? from the situation, and slowly crumbles, hence bringing in their names towards the end, kinda accepting his fate, tbh.  
> i'm gonna try my hand @ another beautiful cliche, hopefully soon, i'll be a bit busy, starring courtesan tony/stuckony + tony/others. my poor bby. i should just do drabbles, jesus.


End file.
